


and have you ever felt for anything such wild love

by iphigenias



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: First Kiss, Future Fic, Jean Moreau Deserves Nice Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 00:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11909841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphigenias/pseuds/iphigenias
Summary: It’s a warm summer afternoon and term doesn’t start for another week and Jean says, “I haven’t been to the beach since I was a child.”





	and have you ever felt for anything such wild love

**Author's Note:**

> casually dying over jerejean after my aftg reread last week. geographical accuracies? i don't know her. title is from mary oliver's 'the sun'

It’s a warm summer afternoon and term doesn’t start for another week and Jean says, “I haven’t been to the beach since I was a child.” Jeremy turns his head where it’s lying on his pillow and stares.

The summer has been kind to Jean. This time last year he had joined the Trojans like a shadow, skin pale and voice soft. It had taken most of the year to get him smiling again - smiling in a way, Jeremy suspects, he hadn’t since before he became a Raven. The California sun has a way with lost souls, and though Jean often complains it isn’t near enough as warm here as he would like, nowhere near enough as balmy as the southern France villa he lived in a lifetime ago, it’s been good to him. He’d even visited Kevin this summer, unprompted. He’d gone to South Carolina with a number three tattooed onto his cheek and returned with a bird done in black and silver ink. Not a raven, though the press latched onto the similarity in a heartbeat. _A dove_ , Jean told Jeremy when they met on campus and Jeremy couldn’t take his eyes off the silver highlights within the tattoo, reflecting and complementing the steely grey of Jean’s eyes that took all year to grow warm with sunshine and freedom.

Now, looking at him on the bed across from Jeremy’s, the silver ink catches the light like starfall. Jeremy’s heart beats a familiar, wanting rhythm that he’s long since learned to ignore. He turns over Jean’s words in his mind. He doesn’t say _you’re kidding_ , although it’s on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t say, _why didn’t you tell me last year_ when they both know Jean would never had admitted it then. Jeremy stares at the side of Jean’s head until he turns, mirroring the pose of his captain, and meets Jeremy’s gaze.

“Let’s go,” Jeremy says, and Jean smiles.

They end up at Venice Beach. Jeremy loans Jean a pair of his board shorts and the vibrant red looks completely at home against his pale skin.

Jeremy also loans Jean his sunscreen.

The beach is busy, packed with tourists and locals soaking up the last rays of summer before reality comes crashing in on the coattails of fall. Jeremy wades out until the waves lap against his chest; Jean goes further. He swims until his feet don’t touch the bottom and treads water as he looks back at Jeremy. “It’s so warm,” he calls, voice soft and delighted and Jeremy would listen to it over and over if he could. He swims over to where Jean is floating, ducking his head underwater and opening his eyes against the salt and grit of the ocean. Even down here Jean glows; like a pearl beneath the ocean’s surface, smooth and precious and safe. Jeremy comes up for air and finds Jean’s eyes straight away, slightly narrowed and staring at him, tattoo glistening with water on his cheek.

“Nicer than France?” Jeremy challenges, splashing a small wave into Jean’s face and making him splutter and laugh. Jean pounces and shoves Jeremy underwater, joining him a moment later. They open their eyes against the muck and Jean reaches out to tweak Jeremy’s nose. Jeremy moves his hand to pinch Jean’s cheek but somehow it turns into a caress, his thumb lingering over the dove. Jean’s smile is gone, and it’s getting hard to breathe. When they resurface, they’re closer than Jeremy remembers them being, and he thinks he could count Jean’s eyelashes if he wanted to. The sun is warm on the backs of their necks.

“France is nice,” Jean says, eyes on Jeremy. “But France doesn’t have you.” Jeremy thinks, _oh_. He thinks, _this is where I kiss him_ , and leans in, but Jean beats him to it.

The water is warm, but Jean’s mouth is warmer. Jeremy’s hands clutch uselessly at Jean’s sides and they sink together beneath the waves. This time Jeremy keeps his eyes closed. It’s enough, like this: the feel of Jean, beneath him and beside him and against him; the salt of the sea working its way between their lips. The ink is flat on Jean’s cheek but Jeremy’s hand can find the tattoo in the dark. And when they come up for air, Jeremy moves his hand from Jean’s cheek to his waist and places his lips there instead. The dove is salty and wet beneath his mouth and Jean sighs at the feel of it, soft and small. Jeremy smiles against his skin.

They don’t make it back to campus til early morning the next day. The summer has been kind to both of them.


End file.
